Sparks *

When I stepped into the life of piracy and heavy alcoholic drinks, I didn't think I'd be successful. I thought that the moment I let my flag fly and the ocean waves greet me that I'd be dead within the week. That I'd be meeting the ocean floor with nothing but the remains of the small ship I'd managed to acquire to keep my corpse company.

That, unlike many I had heard of, was not the case for me. Sometime after I'd joined the fight to be the greatest pirate there ever was, I'd picked up a loyal crew and a brig that I'd proudly declared my new home. Not to mention enough beli to keep me sat for an extensive period of time.

It was three months into plundering that I finally heard my name whispered and passed along the islands I'd stop at to gather supplies and rest. Sometimes, I was in a group's entire conversation. And although it shocked me at first, the surprise wore off eventually. Why I was growing in fame became apparent, and that was because I wasn't a devil-fruit user, unlike many other famous pirates out there. I was just a normal 18 year old girl, who grew bored and turned to the most dangerous lifestyle out there in hope of a change. Well, normal was a bit of a stretch if my love for gunpowder was taken into account.

There was a certain thing about gunpowder that attracted me for some odd reason. The explosion, the sound, the smell... whatever it was, it lured me in. It was why I'd taken to guns so happily and were now sporting four of them. Having been too poor to purchase guns straight away, I'd gathered my trusty friends as I journeyed along. Every time a gun piques my interest, I examine it, shoot it experimentally, and decide whether it was worth my time. It was this small quirk that terrified so many, for whatever reason. The fear was palpable whenever I and my crew marched inland to restock. I'd enter a store with my long coat fluttering behind me gracefully, and scrutinized every single weapon there. Sometimes, if I was feeling irritable, I'd test the gun out on the nearest moron trying to mess with my day, which happened far too often. People wouldn't take me seriously for my stature, my face, my gender... whatever else, and it angered me. And so, I'd put a bullet in their bodies. This was how most rumours of a new menace came about.

They'd called me merciless, insane, or even a devil, and I loved it. I revelled in it, all thanks to the fact that with word reaching other places, more pirates would catch my name. More challengers, more people to defeat. And the Marines.

Now that was something that I had been looking forward to.

Soon, I had made a name for myself in East Blue, and the so-called incredible marines were hot on my heels, trying to bring my streak to a halt. So far, my encounters with them had ended with ships sinking, people dying, people joining my crew, and my bounty rising to a good 35,000,000 beli.

All in all, it was a fairly decent life.

And it got even better when I entered the Grand Line, and set anchor on an island where a couple other ships were also moored to the pier. Having snagged a log pose from some sucker, I'd promptly announced to my crew that I was entering the most dangerous ocean of them all. Most had cheered and whooped in glee at the proposition, while some of my closest friends gently reminded me that it was best to slow down. I'd listened, of course, as they were my crew and I was their captain, but after a short while, those friends caved into the thirst for bigger challenges, as well.

The island I'd anchored at was quaint. It was small, nameless, and a place where I could keep a low profile for a little while. While I loved the recognition, sometimes I understood my crew needed a break, and so I provided. Most often than not, whenever my crew were fatigued, I was as well, so I allowed it with a wave of a hand and a confident smile.

Sighing in relief, I grumbled as I rubbed soothing circles into my shoulder, where I had been hit in my last battle with (surprise, surprise) the marines. Turning away from the island, I watched as my crew breathed sighs that sounded just as grateful as mine. A hiss of pain escaped my throat when I stepped down from my brig, the sharp pain in my arm making me think twice about moving it. I directed my attention to the bar not too far away from the docks, set up in that location for worn out travellers much like myself.

Smiling, I gripped a crewmate's shoulder. "All of you head to the tavern. I'll join you soon." He beamed at me, shoulders drooping. Not a second later, he was dropping his task of repairing the railing of my ship and telling everyone that they were free to go. Everyone rejoiced and filed out of my ship. Soon, it was only me, with the distant squawking of a seagull and the sound of the waves as my company. When they all disappeared into the building, I took a deep breath, letting my lungs fill with the distinct smell of salt. I held it for a second or two before exhaling with a grin. The feeling of standing on something that wasn't constantly swaying had all but escaped my mind.

With a nod to myself, I headed to the bar, keeping an ear out for any gossip. I heard my name as I strolled by, even getting a few looks of wonder or of pure fear from others. I'd chuckle to myself whenever that happened.

When I reached the small building, I pushed the door open and entered the rather crowded place. The smell of alcohol and sweat hit me hard, but I was more than used to it. I sent a couple of my crewmates a grin when they noticed me, and received a couple greetings and nods in return. Walking to the counter, I scanned the area, a hand reaching for the hilt of one of my swords. I was feared, sure, but I could never be too careful when it came to drunks.

I stopped when I stood in front of a stool, sitting down on the shaky seat. I waved a lazy hand at the guy manning the counter, a smirk still playing on my lips. The man raised an eyebrow at me as he approached me, his voice low as he asked, "What can I get for ya?"

I placed a couple beli on the counter. "Whatever you have." I said with another wave, though this one was more dismissive, and looked around the place full of people. With a nod that I missed, the man went to fetch my drink, returning swiftly. I smiled my thanks, before grabbing the beverage and taking a careful sip. The harsh taste made I cringe slightly, and I gave my refreshment a look, but I continued to drink anyway. I'd had worse at other places.

I could hear my crew growing rowdier as the alcohol loosened their tongues, and I raised an eyebrow as they burst into a song that I couldn't recognize because of how slurred their speech was starting to become. Shaking my head, I let them do what they wanted, uncaring. When I was halfway done with my drink, I looked up and immediately noticed the bartender giving my crew nasty looks. I rapped my hand on the counter in warning. They may be drunk and tired, but they were more than willing to fight. The man glanced at I and blinked the expression away, defeated.

When I finally finished my drink and left the pub, it was close to night time. I headed back to my brig, which was still swaying with the waves, to retire for the night. I had completely ignored some of my wounds, too, only taking care of the ones that could've gotten infected had I left them unattended for too long. Letting out a yawn, I climbed onto my ship, heading to my own room. It was time to check those injuries, and for some much-needed rest.